Target Practice
by Rosepddle010
Summary: This is a one-shot that takes place maybe a week or so before Richonne becomes cannon. Carl needs some help from his family. A/N: So I've decided to make this a series of one-shots. Some will follow a chronological order, some will just be things that came to mind.
1. Chapter 1 Target Practice

Michonne stands on the porch. Rick and Carl speak to each other by the car parked in front of the house, debating something she can't hear. Her hand goes on her hip. She can see neither of them are happy and she debates intervening.

Debate over. "What's wrong?" She doesn't raise her voice, but they both hear her.

Rick turns, hand on his holstered gun, eyes squinting against the sun. He jerks his head in a, c'mere, motion. Michonne moves down the steps, stopping in front of him. She glances at Carl. He looks annoyed and she wonders what his father said to put that look on the younger boy's face.

"Come with us," Rick says.

Michonne meets his eyes. "Why?"

"This is stupid," Carl says.

Rick rolls his eyes. "That's why. His attitude." He turns to his son. "It's not stupid. Get in the car."

Carl yanks open the rear passenger door, climbs in and slams the door shut. Rick sighs, giving Michonne an imploring look. "If you don't come with us, we'll kill each other. He's so angry. You can always get through to him."

She nods. "Give me a minute." She dashes back into the house and grabs her sword. "Daryl…Daryl?"

He comes out of the downstairs bathroom. "Yeah? W'sup?"

"I'm going with Rick and Carl."

"Keep them from killin' each other?"

She snorts with little humor. "Something like that. Carol has Judith. Can you let her know one of us will swing by when we get back and pick her up?"

"Yeah." Daryl smirks. "Have fun."

"Right." Before she leaves, Michonne has an idea and heads for the bathroom. She finds what she needs and hurries to join Rick and Carl in the car.

They drive for half an hour, forty minutes tops when Rick pulls the car over. The three exit and head toward the wooded area on their right. Silently, they walk for ten or so minutes until they reach a moderate clearing. Rick lets out a whistle that cracks the air like a whip. They wait. Nothing. Rick whistles again. Michonne scans the area watching, waiting. Carl looks like he wants nothing more than to leave and never come back. Then they hear it. As one, the three become alert, the finely honed team they are. Five walkers approach, two from the left and three in front of them.

"How many will we need?" Michonne asks.

"Um…three for now," Rick says.

"Got it." She moves to her left. Her sword blurs and two walkers drop.

Rick kicks a big walker in the chest, knocking it back a few steps. Michonne hacks both its arms off. Rick kicks it again in the chest. This time it falls to the ground, unable to get up without arms.

"Michonne, get the legs on that one."

She levels it. From the knees down, gone. The walker flops over and tries to drag itself with its hands, but Rick and Michonne have moved onto the third and final walker.

"Arms and jaw," Rick says.

Michonne makes quick work of divesting the walker of its forearms and jaw. Rick ties a rope around the walker's waist and secures it to a tree. He leaves two feet of rope between the tree and the walker for mobility. The legless walker gets tied lowdown on a second tree and the final large, armless walker gets bound tightly to yet another tree.

When Rick and Michonne are done, they turn and find a scowling Carl glaring at the scene.

"That walker"—Rick points to the loosely tied one—"is your moving target. The legless one is your low target and the big immoveable one is your distance headshot."

Carl folds his arms over his chest, looking more despondent than Michonne has ever seen him.

"I don't need this, Dad. I hit the sandbags already. I'm good."

"I know you hit the sandbags and that is good," Rick says. "But when you find a walker or a person who just gonna lay down and play like a sandbag for you then I'll leave you be. Until then, you practice. Now draw and get that headshot." He points to the big walker twenty feet ahead.

Carl draws his gun, then switches it from his right hand to his left. Michonne can see each little change takes something from him. He was such a sure shot and now he has to learn to shoot with his weaker hand. His depth perception is off and his blind spot is massive. She wishes she knew what to do to make it better for him.

Carl sights the gun in his left hand with his left eye and squeezes the trigger. He misses.

"Bring your arm up higher," Rick says. "Go again."

Carl follows his father's instructions, fires again. Misses again. And again. And again. "Enough!" he roars. He fumbles to holster the weapon. In frustration he throws the gun to the ground.

"Pick that up!" Rick says. "You wanna throw a tantrum? You don't have the luxury. You gotta learn this and learn it quick!"

"I can't fuckin' see! What part of that don't you get?"

"Stop." Michonne steps between the two Grimes men. "Yelling at each other isn't going to help anything."

"I can't do this," Carl says. "I can't shoot anymore."

She hears the defeat in his voice and it breaks her heart. "Look at me." She places her hand on his cheek. "You are the most capable kid I have ever met. Somewhere your brain got stuck on what happened to you. Understandable. But cut the bullshit, Carl. You and I both know you can do anything you want to do." His gaze drifts away from hers. "Pick up that gun and for god's sake put that holster on your left, or fix it so you can draw and fire in a split second with it still on your right." She sends him a small smile. "Give me a minute to talk to your father."

She places her hand on Rick's chest and pushes him a few steps away. In a low voice she says, "He can do this, but you have to have patience."

Rick draws in a deep breath. "I know, but…"He runs a hand through his hair.

"I know, Rick. I know." She squeezes his arm. "You were scared for him before and now…now it's…" She can't bring herself to finish that sentence. Carl had come through his injury and they thought they were out of the woods, but then a whole new set of worries cropped up. In a normal world things like adjusting to skewed depth perception and blind spots might cause him to walk into walls or delay him getting a driver's license. Now, in this world it could cost his life. Neither of them were willing to allow that.

"I have an idea," Michonne says. "Do you trust me?"

Rick squints at her as if to say, 'stupid question.' She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a square gauze pad and a roll of bandages. She places the gauze on Rick's right eye and wraps the bandage around his head.

"What are you doing?" Carl asks, suddenly beside her.

"Your dad taught you how to shoot, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well he hasn't been able to get through to you this time because he can't fully understand what it's like for you to shoot now."

Carl and Rick stare at her through their beautiful blue left eyes. They really gape at her when she places a gauze over her own right eye and wraps her head.

"You're doing it too?" Carl asks. The corner of his mouth lifts into a small smile.

"We're a team aren't we?"

"We're family," Rick says and hands her his extra gun.

Michonne's heart palpitates and she fights the smile that wants to light up her face. "Right," she says as the three of them get into position. "We don't leave until we all can shoot left-handed and left-eyed. Okay?"

"Okay," Rick and Carl answer together.

"On three," Michonne says.


	2. Chapter 2 Mama Bear

**Mama Bear**

Michonne walks toward home with Judith on her hip. The baby is sleepy, but Michonne tickles her, trying to keep her awake long enough for dinner and a bath. She's learned the hard way that if she lets her sleep now, Judith will wake up screaming to be fed in the middle of the night. No one wants that. Judith laughs and wriggles in Michonne's arms, still yawns wide though.

Just as Michonne is about to go in for another tickle, she see something she is sure has to be a mistake. One of the Alexandrians, Betty…no, Barbara—a portly woman who is usually quiet but wears a permanent scowl—rounds the corner with Carl by the ear. By the ear like he's a naughty student. Michonne quickens her steps and the group meets at the foot of the stairs to her home.

"Get your hands off of him," Michonne says. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper, almost pleasant, but there is no mistaking…it is not a request.

Barbara lets go of Carl. He immediately straightens—he's taller than this woman—and rubs his ear.

"What's going on?" Michonne asks, looking at Barbara only.

"I was—" Carl starts.

"I'm talking to Barbara." Michonne give the woman a steel glare.

"Listen," Barbara starts, "I know you all have a different way of doing things, cause you'd have to be different being out there so long. But this boy can't just run around firing off a gun whenever he feels like it. Look, I'm just gonna say it. There is no discipline in this house. He's running around half-blind firing a gun like a sociopath and I'm just—"

"I wasn't," Carl interjects. "I was just—"

"Take your sister in the house," Michonne says, eyes still on Barbara.

"But—"

"Now." Michonne hands Judith to Carl. He stomps up the steps, flings open the door and doesn't bother to close it.

When Michonne is sure he is gone, she takes a step closer to Barbara, invading her space.

Barbara smiles nervously. "I know how it is with teens, but—"

"Stop talking." It is no more than a whisper, but Barbara's mouth snaps shut. "You need to hear what I am about to say to you." Michonne pauses, making sure she has Barbara's undivided attention. "If you ever put your hands on that boy again, I'll make sure you don't have hands to touch anything _ever_."

Barbara gasps, eyes flicker to the sword on Michonne's back. She steps backward. "There is no need to—"

"I said stop talking." Takes another step closer. "If I ever catch wind of you referring to him as anything other than Carl, you will be sorry."

"Don't you even want to know what he was—"

"I don't care what he was doing!" She shouts now, causing Barbara to take several steps away. "Carl is confident, tall and intelligent so I get that sometimes people forget, but make no mistake, he is a child. If you have a problem with him, you come to me or his father. That is it. You do not touch him and you damn sure don't refer to him as an undisciplined, half-blind sociopath. Now get away from my house."

Barbara flees as fast as her dumpy feet can carry her. Michonne has to stand there for a moment, hands clenched into fists, trying to regulate her breathing. She really wants to go after the woman, kind of wishes Barbara had more fight in her. She takes a deep breath, turns to head into the house and finds Rick standing in the open doorway.

He cocks his head to the side. "Wanna tell me what that was about?"

"In a minute." Michonne skirts past him and enters the house. Rick follows. She pulls her sword over her head and props it against the wall.

"Carl!"

She finds him in the kitchen. He is feeding Judith, but still looks as pissed as Michonne feels. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asks.

Carl shoots to his feet in full defense mode. "I was just doing what Dad said I could. He told me I could practice shooting over by the west wall. There are a lot of bushes and the rabbits. I was only—"

"That's not what I'm talking about. You don't allow anyone put their hands on you. I know she was just grabbing your ear, but she has no right to touch you."

Carl looks taken aback for a moment, as if realizing Michonne is angry with him for an entirely different reason. "I didn't want to be disrespectful, I guess."

"You can be respectful, I _want_ you to be respectful, but she needs to respect you too. She is not your parent and therefore cannot discipline you. She can tell you to stop and then address your father or me. That is it. If she ever puts her hands on you like that again or insults you, come get me. I mean that."

"Oh I think it's clear you mean it," Rick says. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

"What are you smirking at?" Michonne asks.

"You seem angrier than Carl." The two Grimes boys chuckle.

"I am. And it's not funny."

Rick and Carl smile wider.

Michonne narrows her eyes at the two of them. "Go get washed up for dinner, Carl."

He places Judith's empty bowl in the sink and exits the kitchen with a muffled "Yes, ma'am."

"Undisciplined my ass." Michonne heads to the sink and washes her hands. She begins to clean Judith's food smudged face all the while she feels Rick's eyes on her.

"What?" she finally askes, turning to him.

He lifts a shoulder. "Nothing. Just wondering if I should go talk to Barbara, smooth thangs over."

Now Michonne laughs. "Since when are you the one to smooth anything? She'll see you on her doorstep and shit herself."

He snorts a laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Michonne lifts Judith out of the highchair. "You think I was too harsh on her?"

"Not at all." He takes Judith from her. "I'm gonna give her a bath then I'll be back to help you with dinner."

"Sure." As he leaves, Michonne would swear she hears him mumble, "Mama Bear."

 **A/N:** So I wrote this today because I feel like there was a lot of missed moments on the show with Michonne and Carl. I love their relationship. To me, even in the graphic novels Michonne is more of a mother figure than Andrea. Could be that I am all about Michonne, but that's really how I see it. I even think her relationship with Rick is more solid in the books than his with Andrea. Still, I said all that to say this…I feel like Michonne would totally go mama bear on someone for the slightest thing if it were about Carl or Judith.


	3. Chapter 3 The Day Before

Michonne stands on the edge of bathtub. Both hands firmly grip the shower rod. She hates this thing. If she had a power drill she would screw it into the wall, but she doesn't. She has to make do with this tension bar that keeps falling. Rick says she can use the master bath upstairs anytime she wants. She has taken him up on that more than once, but this bathroom is convenient and it's hers. No man hair, or man smells. She doesn't have to feel awkward when she washes out her underwear and hangs them on the towel racks. It's her own space.

She twists the rod this way and that, finally feeling the tightness against the walls. Slowly, she lets go. Hands in the air, she waits. Just as she lowers one foot to the floor, the rod slips and clangs into the tub.

"Damn it!"

"You okay?" A voice from the hallway startles her.

Rick is outside the partially opened bathroom door, but he isn't looking inside. Michonne adjusts the towel wrapped around her body, securing it.

"This shower rod is going to be the death of me."

"Need help?" he nudges the door open an inch.

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Rick pushes the door all the way open. Michonne turns her back to him, faces the tub, pretends she doesn't notice the quick once over he gives her.

"You take one side. I'll take the other," he says.

Michonne steps up on the right side of the tub. Rick holds the rod on the left. "The problem with trying to do this alone is my arms aren't long to tighten both sides evenly."

Rick grunts. "And your arms are pretty long."

"Are they?" She glances at him.

"Your wingspan is probably longer than mine." He chuckles.

"You make it sound like I have freakishly long—" She feels it then, the slip. The towel. She takes one hand off the rod, but quickly realizes she needs both hands. Rick's side wobbles when Michonne lets her side go.

"Grab it," she shouts.

Rick lets the rod drop and grabs hold of the back of Michonne's towel.

"Not my towel! The curtain rod."

"Oh! Sorry!" Rick lets go and steps backward, almost completely out of the bathroom.

With her back still to him, Michonne adjusts and secures her towel. She can feel the awkwardness creep into the bathroom. She turns and grins at him, trying to ignore the weird energy. He isn't looking at her, has become fascinated with a scuff that's been on his boot for years.

She sighs. "I'll just get a shower upstairs. Can you and Carl work on this while I'm doing that?"

"Yeah. Sure." He glances at her.

"It's time to change his bandage anyway. Have him wait for me in here."

Rick nods and flees. There is no other word for it. Michonne laughs to herself. She thinks it's cute that he's so old fashioned and bashful. _That is what it is, right?_ She shakes it off and gathers her things for the shower.

…

Showered, dressed and teeth brushed, she returns to her bathroom. Carl sits on the closed toilet seat, waiting for her. The shower rod is up and perfectly symmetrical, not like when she puts it back up herself. One side is always higher than the other. Michonne goes to the medicine cabinet and retrieves gauze, a roll of bandages, ointment and a bottle of pills. She opens a drawer and grabs a pair of manicure scissors.

Carl has removed his bandage and eyepatch. The top of his hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, out of the way. It's long and flops from side to side when he moves his head.

Michonne washes her hands, dries them and steps closer to Carl. "You really should let me cut your hair."

He shakes his head, ponytail flopping like a happy dog's tail. "Not gonna happen. Quit asking."

She grins at him. This has become their daily exchange. "Okay. When people start calling you Rapunzel don't say I didn't offer."

Carl smirks, rolls his eye. "Might come in handy. You might be trapped and the only way to save you is to lower my hair so you can climb up."

She snorts a laugh. "Yeah? Well if that ever happens, you can say 'I told you so'."

"I will."

Michonne looks at the wound circling his right eye, the empty socket. She doesn't stare and she is careful not to look worried, angry or sad. Carl doesn't need her fear, anger or pity. He needs her to put this ointment on the area around his eye. He needs her to change his bandage. He needs her to love him. She does the first two efficiently, the latter constantly, unconditionally. She snips the end of the bandage, tucks it securely then pulls the band from his hair and ruffles his silky locks.

"I mean, I have scissors in my hand already. Snip, snip and it's done."

"Quit it, would you?" Carl stands, grinning at her. "I thought my dad was a nag."

Michonne grabs her chest in mock offense. "You wound me, sir. Deeply."

Carl bows, backing out of the bathroom. "Forgive me, my lady."

"Wait." She opens the pill bottle and dumps out two pills.

Carl shakes his head. "I'm good. I don't need them."

"You haven't had any headaches?"

Carl averts his eyes. "Not as many. Not like it was last month."

"When you get them, are they usually in the morning or at night?" She steps closer to him, all joking aside.

"Um…" Carl runs a hand through his hair, thinking. "If it's really sunny out then yeah, during the day. If not, then I'm good."

Michonne leans to her left, looks past him at all the sun streaming through the windows in the living room. She quirks a brow at him.

"My head doesn't hurt now. I feel fine."

"Carl. You and I both know that by the time you feel the headache it will be too far gone to do anything about it. I don't want a repeat of what happened last month."

She had found him on the bathroom floor, curled up in a sweaty ball, a pool of vomit around him. The headache was so profound he sobbed in her arms, begging her to do something. Next to the night he'd been shot, it was the scariest thing she'd ever experienced. Since then, she's been on him to take his medicine. It dawns on her now that he may not be following her demands.

"Carl, I don't want to nag you, strong-arm you, or disrespect you by treating you like a child, but I will do all of the above if it means keeping you well. Be the mature, responsible boy I know you are and do what you're supposed to do." She thrusts her hand forward, two white pills on her palm.

Carl takes them, pops them in his mouth, steps over to the sink and drinks from the tap. He straightens and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. "Do you want to check my mouth, make sure I swallowed them?" The corner of his mouth lifts.

Michonne shakes her head. "I trust you. Always have, always will." She pats his shoulder and steps past him, leaving him in the bathroom.

 **A/N:** So I wrote this because I wanted to see this scene ever since Michonne said 'It's time to change your bandage' to Carl. To me, that speaks volumes to how close they are. Denise could do this for Carl. But this is something a mother does for her child.

As for the towel and shower rod scene with Rick… I feel like Rick HAS to have seen Michonne in only a towel before. I mean, they live together for crying out loud. She came to his bedroom door with only a bathrobe on. No way she had anything on under it either. Personally, the only thing that could have made that opening scene of 610 any better is if she came to his door with only a towel or a shorter robe. But maybe that's just me-LOL.

 **Coming Next:** From the Couch to the Bed—what happened between the kiss on the couch and the overhead shot in the bed. I'm sure this has been done, but it's in my head and I want/need to write it. Then a few missing scenes will follow from the episodes after 610.


	4. Chapter 4 The Night Before

**The Night Before**

 **A/N:** Okay, so I lied. I said the next one-shot would be what happened between the couch and the bed with Richonne, but I forgot about this story. I think this conversation between Rick and Michonne would have to happen before they would become a couple. Honestly, it probably would have happened sooner than this, but as I said, I forgot I wanted to write it.

Also, please, please forgive me for not thanking everyone for all the wonderful reviews! I am so sorry. I'm a little old school with fanfiction. As I've said before, I cut my teeth on Harry Potter stories and abandoned writing fanfiction years ago, focusing on my original work. Back then, I did EVERYTHING on a computer with the full website. So I read and responded to reviews on the website. Now I read everything on my phone, usually on the go. Please know, even if I don't respond, I read and appreciate every review and every favorite. Thank you all SO very much!

 **Summary: This takes place the night before Richonne goes cannon. Rick and Michonne have a conversation about Ron. (I know right…WTF would they talk about him? Lol.)**

…

Michonne flops down on the sofa, feet aching from her shift at one of the watch-points. She pulls off her boots and tosses them to the floor, props her feet up on the coffee table next to the kerosene lamp. It's late. She took an extra shift for Spencer. Something is going on with him. She gathers it has to do with the death of Deanna, but he doesn't want to talk about it. Either way, she could see that he wasn't in the right frame of mind to be vigilant on post tonight, so she offered to take his shift. He didn't argue.

She has things on her mind too. For the past few days, actually. It's getting better. She's coming to closure, acceptance, but there are still residuals. She hears Rick's boots clop up the porch steps. His stride is distinctive. The front door opens, closes and Rick walks in.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

He goes straight for the kitchen, rummages in the fridge, cabinets and drawers then plops down on the sofa beside her. He has a jar of peanut butter, a sleeve of crackers, a bag of almonds, a box of raisins, a bowl of left over rice with peas, and a cup of water.

Michonne quirks a brow. "Hungry?"

"Starved. I know I should ration, especially since we didn't find anythang today, but I'm so damn hungry."

"It's okay." She smiles at him. "Where's Daryl?"

"At Aaron's. Apparently, it's spaghetti night."

She nods. "Eat the peanut butter first and the almonds. Drink the water."

Rick looks at her with a spoon full of rice and peas to his mouth. "Why?"

"Protein. It'll fill you up faster and longer. And you're probably dehydrated." She eyes his sweat-stained shirt.

"Yeah, okay." He sits down the bowl and spoon, replaces them with the jar of peanut butter and a cracker.

Michonne closes her eyes, relaxes back into the cushions and listens to Rick eat for several long minutes. When she feels him flop back beside her, settling into the sofa, she opens her eyes. Most of the food is still there. All the water is gone, but he probably needs more. He wasn't as hungry as he thought. Dehydrated, just as she said.

Rick pulls off his boots, props his feet on the coffee table beside Michonne's feet. She sighs. He rubs his stomach and looks at her. "How was your day?"

She shrugs, closes her eyes. "Fine." He watches her, she can feel it.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about," she says. "Worked two shifts. Tired."

"Not that. Wanna talk about what has you lookin' like this?"

She opens her eyes and looks over at him. "Looking like what?"

He studies her for a moment. "Off. Something's wrong." He leans a bit closer. "Tell me."

They hold eye contact for a long beat. With anyone else this would be awkward, uncomfortable, but she has been staring Rick in the eyes since the day she met him. They don't need words all the time, most of the time. Tonight she needs to tell him what's been going on with her.

"I've been thinking about Ron." She sees it instantly. She has shocked him. It doesn't happened often, but it's clear that's the last thing he expected her to say.

Rick straightens a little on the couch and angles to face her more. "Ron? Why?"

"I…well…" Michonne adjusts on the sofa as well. She sits up, folds her legs under her and faces Rick completely. Her back rests against the armrest. "I killed a kid." She swallows and it sounds loud to her ears.

Rick tilts his head to the side. "It needed to be done."

"I know."

"So what's this about, and why now?"

Michonne lifts a shoulder. "It's been on my mind for a few days actually. I haven't really had time to think about it before now. Immediately after, it was all about Carl. Will he wake up? How will he be when he does wake up? Taking care of him, then cleaning up all the walkers." She shrugs again. "Then one day I just woke up, maybe I had a dream that I can't remember, but I woke with the thought that I killed a kid. I mean, he was Carl's age, or close to it and now he's not here because of me."

Rick draws in a breath. She can almost see what he wants to say. Yes, she had to do it, but it doesn't really make her feel any better.

"That night, did you think of somethang else you could'a done and just decided to go with killin' him?"

"No. There was no time to think. Honestly, it was a reflex because protecting you and Carl and Judith are reflexive to me. It's practically involuntary. I don't decide to do it anymore than you _decide_ to sneeze. There's an agitator and then—"she snaps her fingers—"the reaction. Ron with that gun was a blast of pepper in my face, killing him was the sneeze. It happened just that quickly."

Rick squints at her. "Everythang you're sayin' to me makes sense. I know you see it, so why is it botherin' you? He would'a killed me. You know that."

"I know. I guess…" She looks up at the ceiling, thinking. "It's his age. Has to be. I don't think I'd be giving this a second thought if it wasn't for his age."

Rick nods. "Okay." He shifts on the couch again, facing her fully. "Let's walk it through." He inclines his head as if to say, 'go ahead'.

Michonne frowns. "Walk through what?"

"Play out a different scenario. Let's go though it with you doing somethang less…lethal."

"Like what?"

"You tell me?" He sits patiently, waiting for her.

Michonne takes a minute, thinks about it. "Okay, so say instead of running him through, I cut off his hand." She shrugs. "He lives, makes due with one hand and that's that."

Rick puffs out a breath, props his arm on the back of the sofa and looks at her. He has a slight smirk on his face. For an instant it looks flirty, but she quickly dismisses that.

"You really think that's that? Play it out for real. I got all night."

He's playing with her. She sees what he's trying to do, make her feel better. It's working. She leans all the way back against the arm of the sofa and covers her face. "You are very frustrating sometimes."

"Been called worse…by you. Quit stallin' and work it out."

"Okay…so…I cut off Ron's hand. One hit, hand drops…"

"And? What else could happen?"

She scrubs her hands over her face. "The gun could still go off?"

"Definitely. Carl is still shot."

They look at each other, no smirking now, no lightness.

"Keep going with that. Ron, no hand. Carl still shot." A muscle twitches in Rick's jaw. He has no doubt she did the right thing. She can see it as plain as the stubble on his face. She knows it too, but there is a difference between knowing and feeling it. She's trying to have her head and heart in the same place.

"Okay, we get Carl back to Denise…Ron too." Michonne closes her eyes again. Thinks really hard about what would be the most logical outcome to Ron alive having lost a hand, his mother, father and brother. Carl alive, missing an eye but still has his family…a strong family.

She opens her eyes and stares at Rick. Again that silent meeting of gazes that says everything without saying anything. He's gotten to the point and is simply waiting for her to catch up, she knows this.

She's caught up now, nods. "Ron wasn't the type of kid to let that go."

"No, he wasn't," Rick says, barley moving his lips.

"He would still blame you for the loss of his entire family."

"Yes, he would."

She sighs. "He would come after you again."

Rick jerks his head downward in a quick yes.

"You, me…or more likely, Carl would've had to kill eventually," she says.

"Yeah. Or he would've gotten one of us." Rick leans forward, intense. "You see it now, right? You see what you did had to be done. Then or now. He was his father's son. Maybe Morgan's right. People can change. Maybe Ron would've. We don't always have the luxury to wait for that. Ease your mind, Michonne." He touches her shoulder. "You did the right thang. No one would say different."

She nods. "My head always knew that. My heart knows it now too." She draws in a deep breath, unfolds her legs and stands. "Thank you, Rick. I'm good now."

He relaxes back into the cushions. "Good. Cause if you're not good, this whole house ain't good."

She grins and heads for her bedroom. "Goodnight."

"G'night."

Sleep finds her quickly and soundly. Her mind and heart are both clear.

...

 **A/N:** Forgive me, I think this author's note might be a tad long. I wrote this one-shot mostly based on an interview I saw with Danai. She talked about how protecting Rick and Carl is Michonne's reflex and I simply fell in love with that description. It's so accurate and says so much more about how much she loves the Grimes family than words can ever say. Also, from another interview with the fabulous Danai Gurira she talks about how it's important to show Michonne as a full woman. She was referencing to falling in love and making love to Rick, but I think there is so much more to that as well.

To be a full person, you have to be more than just a badass. I think there are many people who only see Michonne as this sword wielding hard chick—none of you here, of course. She is so much more than that. So with that in mind, I wondered how she would metabolize killing Ron. When I first watched episode 609 I didn't think anything of it. Well, I thought good! Jessie and her annoying ass kids are gone! Let's throw a party! Then I read an interview talking about how heavy the episode was, seeing two kids killed and one shot in the head. I was like, oh sh*t, that did happen. Two kids were killed that night. I had disassociated myself with that fact because they were sooooooo annoying. That's when I started to wonder if that would that be something Michonne would eventually have to process. Some may disagree with me, and I'm fine with that, but I think she absolutely would. We've said it time and time again that Michonne is the heart of the Grimes family and sometimes even the ASZ. She would not simply brush off killing a teen. Because she is a rational woman, she would recognize it was necessary, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't hit her. So I wanted to write it. How would she process this and come through the other side balanced between head and heart. Of course Rick would have to be there. Honestly, I think the conversation would have worked with Rick or Carl. He's just that intuitive and knew Ron better. But I think Rick reads people just as well as Michonne when he is clear and focused, which by this point in season six, he is the clearest he has been in years. So those are my thoughts. Can you tell I LOVE THIS SHOW?!

 **Thank you all so much for reading! I promise, the love scene is coming next!**


	5. Chapter 5 From the Couch to the Bed

**Summary: My attempt to fill in the gap of all that delicious time between the couch and the bedroom. This is a long one,**

 **From the Couch to the Bed**

Rick's lips are soft, softer than she has ever imagined. Not that she has thought about it, but the softness is no less unexpected. He's a great kisser. On top of her, pressing her into the sofa, Michonne is momentarily lost. As if sensing the head-spinning going on inside of her brain, Rick pulls back, looks down at her and smiles. She can't help but return his joy. This is happening. Her fingers caress his stubble, slide into his hair. She guides him back to her mouth. His tongue is soft, gentle, seeking. He pulls back again, but this time he sits up completely, pulling her with him. She's straddling him now. His hands rest on her hips as he goes in to continue the kiss. He moans in her mouth and it sets her on fire.

Rick grips her hips firmly, pulls her closer so she is sitting fully on him, on the bulge in his jeans. His mouth trails away from her lips, over her jaw, down to her neck. His hands slide up her sides, fingers slip under her tank top, dance up her spin. She shivers. He does it again, up and down her spin. His mouth loves on her collarbone, one side then the other, leaving warm wet kisses there. Michonne arches into him, head tips back, allowing him full access. Rick's fingers brush over her bra strap once then twice and she knows what he wants.

She reaches around, lifts the back of her shirt and unhooks her bra. Rick returns his attention to her mouth, sucks on her plump bottom lip. Michonne slips the left strap out through the armhole. He stops doing that delicious thing he is doing to her mouth. He watches her pull her bra out though the right armhole like he has just witnessed a magic trick. She bites back a grin at the wonder on his face. Beit he has never seen a woman do that before, or he is overjoyed by the knowledge that only a thin layer of fabric separates him from her breasts. The way Rick goes in for the kiss again, one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her bottom, she surmises it's the latter.

There's a laugh in her throat at his eagerness. It quickly slips into a moan when his hands move under her top, caresses her sides, travels around to cup her breasts. The skin on his hands is rough against the silk of her breasts. She likes this. Rick is a man from the top of his soft chestnut curls to the bottom of his callused feet. He lifts her shirt higher, dips his head and engulfs one of her pert breasts, worrying the taut nipple with his tongue. A sigh escapes her lips. Rick has skills. He moves to her other breast, tongue flicking, teeth nipping, lips sucking. She arches again, inviting him take what he wants. The invitation is accepted. Rick makes a move to yank her tank top up and over her head.

Michonne snaps out of her lust-filled stupor. "Wait, wait."

Rick doesn't seem to hear her. He is still devouring her breasts and trying to remover her top.

She giggles softly as the shirt gets caught on her chin. "No, no, no."

"Yeah." Rick stops that wonderful thing he is doing with his tongue against her nipple.

"No, wait."

She leans back to fully see his face. His expression nearly makes her laugh out loud. He looks like a boy whose favorite toy has been taken away. Michonne tugs down her shirt, covers her breasts. He really pouts then.

"Shouldn't we…maybe go somewhere else? I mean Carl could—"

Rick stands so quickly, Michonne nearly topples to the floor. He catches her, rights her. She wraps her legs around his waist. His hands grip her bottom. He heads toward the steps, his room, even though her room is closer. Is he going to carry her all the way? No man has ever done that. Rick is the only man who has. He carried her when they first met. Had no choice, other than leaving her for the walkers. Men in her past assumed she was too strong, too independent to ever want a man to do something so sexy, so domineering as to carry her off to bed. They were wrong. She is and always has been a full female. Romantic as well as strong and independent. She kisses him. Just because. Just because she can, because he is the kind of guy who would carry her even though they both know she does not need or expect it.

As they reach the bottom step, she remembers something. She breaks the kiss and says, "Wait."

Rick snorts a laugh. "What now?"

She smiles at him. "Put me down, please."

He complies, giving her ass a squeeze as he does so. The instant her feet hit the floor she dashes off to her room and grabs her Katana. As she returns to the living room, striding quickly, she picks up Rick's gun, hands it to him.

He lifts a brow. "Think we gonna need these?"

"Maybe." She winks as she passes him, heading up the steps. There is no need for him to carry her now. He was able and willing and that is enough for her. Michonne precedes him into his bedroom. She leans her sword against the nightstand closest to the entrance. Rick closes the door with a soft click, walks over to the other side of the room and places his gun on the other nightstand.

They face each other. The bed separates them. This has happened to Michonne before. A long, long time ago. A break in the passion. Ruins the flow, kills the moment. Not tonight. The corner of Rick's mouth lifts. She matches his smile, locks eyes with him. Slowly she walks down her side of bed to the end. Eyes still on him. She lifts her arms, unties her headband. Her locs fall into her face, causes her to lose eye contact with him for an instant. As she rounds the end of the bed, gaze back on his, she lifts her top, pulls it over her head in one fluid motion. It's tossed to the floor.

Rick Adam's apple bobs as he watches her approach. She steps right up to him. Slim fingers make quick work of unbuttoning his shirt for him. It seems wrong to speak now. No words are needed. All she needs are his eyes on her, giving her a look she has never seen on the face of any other man. Unbridled need, unrestrained desire. Reverence. When his shirt is off, Rick hooks one hand behind Michonne's neck, the other at her waist. He pulls her to him and they share a shocked breath at their first skin-to-skin contact.

The shock dissipates instantly, makes way for arms around each other and deep searing kisses. Rick turns them, gently but firmly lowers Michonne to the bed. Before she can scoot in place, he attempts to unbutton her pants. He quickly discovers there is no button or zipper, only a flap made to look like a fly. They are stretchy pants that fit snugly and gives her mobility. Rick hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs. Her underwear slips down along with the fitted pants. She lifts her hips and allows Rick to completely undress her.

While her eyes remain on his face, Rick takes in every inch of her long, lean body. She scoots up the bed, rests her head on the pillow. Such scrutiny should make her uncomfortable, but this is Rick. There is no hiding from him. He knows her like no other. His eyes travel to hers, now that they have feasted on her form. He undoes his gun belt, lets it drop to the floor. Next he opens belt, unbuttons his jeans and pulls down the zipper. The loose-fitted jeans fall to the floor with little effort. Michonne's eyes leave Rick's gaze, travels down his chest, over his tight abs and stops at the tent in his boxers. Rick wastes no time divesting himself of the one last barrier. When he straightens, from tugging the underwear from his foot, Michonne's eyes widen slightly.

Rick is not huge, but he is healthy. Thicker than he is long. Just as she likes it. She would rather be filled than stabbed. His erection juts forward like an angry fist. Michonne forces herself to meet his eyes again. Rick climbs on the bed. Gaze fixed on her. He lies half on her, half off, propped up on his left elbow. He brushes a few stray locs away from her face. Smiles as he dips his head to meet her lips. His right hand explores her curves. Over her breasts, across the taut plains of her abdomen and down her hip to her thighs.

She weaves her fingers into his curls, holding his face to hers, his mouth against her mouth. Tongue against tongue. She wants him so badly, torn between rushing and relishing. His moans, his kisses, his hands send her spiraling. The kissing and groping grows to a fevered pitch. Michonne is so happy that she took extra minutes to groom herself this morning. Shaved her underarms, calves and trimmed between her legs. Not that Rick would care, but she does.

His hand slips between her legs, cups her sex. He breaks their long, deep kiss with a guttural groan. She is so wet, embarrassingly so. Except, she isn't at all embarrassed. She wants him to know how much she wants him, what he does to her body. Rick dips his head, takes one of her breasts in his mouth. Michonne moves her leg, allows him better access to her center. His fingers toy with her slick folds, circle her sensitive nub. She releases her grip on his hair, slides her hand down to cover his, rolls her hips. Rick looks up at her with such lust in his eyes. She finds it hard to contain herself. His lips are pump, kiss swollen and flushed. His pupils are dilated, only a sliver of blue shows.

Rick moves both of their hands from between her legs. He shifts, bringing himself fully on top of her. Michonne opens her legs wider, brings her knees level with his hips. He looks down on her, mouth slightly open as if he can't catch his breath. Then he lowers his head, rests his forehead against hers. Nose to nose. Mouth to mouth. She can feel his erection, poised at her entrance, but he isn't moving.

She cocks her head to the side, smiles up at him. "What?" she whispers.

He presses his lips to hers, pulls back slightly and says, "It's…it's been a while."

Michonne smiles wider. "Yeah. I know. Me too."

He nods, bites his lip. "I might not…it might be…fast."

 _Oh, that's what he's worried about_. She doesn't smile, or make light. Runs both her hands down his whiskered jaws, kisses his lips, his nose, his chin. "It's been a long time for me too, Rick." She speaks softly, looks him in the eyes when she does so. "I don't care how quick it is."

"You say that now," he grumbles. "But three seconds from now when I'm done…"

She laughs a breathy sound and then looks at him seriously. Only desire in her eyes and voice. "We have all night."

"All night," he says, matching her lusty tone.

He goes in for a kiss, deep and consuming. There is no more talking. None needed. His hands touch every part of her he can reach. She strokes his back, down to his firm bottom. She brings her knees higher alongside his hips. The tip of his penis presses into her center, and then he joins them, fills her, stretches her. Rick tears his mouth away from hers with a groan. His breathing is thick as thrusts slowly. Michonne rolls her hips, matches his slow rhythm. He drops his head beside hers. Raspy breaths fill her ear. The slick sounds of their thrusting and Rick's ragged breaths seems so loud, so sexy. Threatens to send her over the edge any second.

The pace increases, still steady yet not as measured. It's like they want to relish each stroke but their bodies have different ideas. She is panting now. It won't be long now. Rick hooks his forearms under her knees, brings her legs higher and wider. The slight adjustment is all it takes. She comes. A quick pop of release that sends her inner muscles clenching like a quivering fist. Rick follows. His entire body stiffens to one corded muscle as he empties his soul into her.

He relaxes, collapses. Bodies slick with a sheen of sweat, they lay together. Breathe in each other. His full weight is on her, but she likes it. Her fingers run through his damp curls. He kisses her neck then slides off her, pulls her with him. They face each other, arms and legs tangled together. Silly matching smiles. Smiles that say, 'I can't believe we just did that' yet also say, 'why'd we wait so long?' She is exhausted and somehow ready, willing, eager to go again. As with most times in their relationship, Rick seems to read her mind.

He bites his lip, suppresses a goofy smile. "All night, you said, right?"

A/N: I thought long and hard about what went on in that bedroom. As much as I'd like to see, think, imagine all the wild sex Rick and Michonne had and will have, I feel like their first time was some plain ole missionary. Not that it was at all plain, and experts say missionary is the most intimate way a couple can be together. I hope you all found this as hot and loving as I did. Rest assured, however, this is not the end of that night. The next few chapters well share more love, as well as plenty of pillow talk I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for. Please let me know what you think in the comments! See you soon!


	6. Chapter 6 Pillow Talk

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I love and appreciate all of them. I was having a problem getting some of them, but I think they all came through to my email. Nevertheless, I think you to every review and every reader alike! Please forgive any typos. I don't have a beta, but I try to catch all of my mistakes. Also, I have no idea how to edit a chapter and re-post it. *hangs head in shame*

 **Summary:** Still the same night of their first night together. Some talking, more loving. Rated M

 **PILLOW TALK**

Legs and arms tangle around each other. They face one another in post coital bliss. Rick's face is buried in Michonne's neck. She knows he isn't asleep. Random kisses to her throat, collarbone and shoulder speaks to his awake state. Not to mention he has yet to stop caressing her. His hands make laps up and down her back, over her bottom, down her thigh and back up again. She runs her fingers through his hair, drags them over his scalp which pulls a low moan from him. She wants to touch every part of him.

Their first time together was over quickly, but it was so very satisfying. She's ready for round two. She won't have to do much to turn this cuddle session into more, she knows that, but there is something she must take care of first.

She pulls back from him as much as his cocooning arms will allow. "I have to go to the bathroom," she whispers.

Rick presses his lips to her neck. "Right now?"

"Yes. Right now. I mean, I can wait if you want, but it won't be pretty."

He sighs, rolls onto his back. "Go."

She laughs at his pout, sits up. "Where are my clothes?"

Rick blindly reaches off the side of the bed, comes up with his shirt. Michonne slips it on, buttons it, and scoots to the side of the bed closest to the door.

He grabs her wrist, stops her. "You coming back?"

She looks at him over her shoulder, dreads swinging in her face. "Of course. Where else would I go?"

"Back to your room."

Honestly, the thought never occurs to her. It's on the tip of her tongue to ask if he wants her to come back here or go to her room, but she decides to take a bolder approach. She's all in and wants to see if, as usual, they are on the same page.

"I kinda thought _this_ was my room now." Her heart stops for the fraction of a second it takes for Rick to give her a crooked smile.

"Yeah, it is. I'd…I'd like that."

She returns his smile. "Good. Then I'll be back." She steps to the door, presses her ear against it.

"What are you doing?" Rick asks through a chuckle.

"Making sure the coast is clear."

She opens the door, peeks in both directions, finds the hallway empty and sprints to the right. Fear of running into Carl damn near gives her wings. Not to mention, evidence of her session with Rick is running down her leg. Michonne makes it to the bathroom without incident, closes the door quietly, locks it. She empties her bursting bladder with a long sigh. At the sink, she eyes the shower longingly. Decides against it and reaches for a washcloth from the rack by the shower. The white one she knows is Judith's because bathed the baby earlier in the evening. She heard Carl in the shower a short while after she was done with Judith. So the damp one has to be his, leaving the dry one as Rick's. She takes it, lathers it with hot water and soap and cleans between her legs.

When she is done, she swishes water around in her mouth, drinks, wishes she had mouthwash. As she pats herself dry with Rick's towel—same process of elimination as with the washcloths—she stares at her reflection in the mirror. It hits her, a wave of emotion, as sudden as it is inexplicable. Her eyes well with tears. She blinks as her reflection goes blurry in the mirror. What is it? Why is she crying? She's not sad, but this feels different than tears of joy too.

"What is it, Michonne?" she whispers to herself.

She closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath, takes stock. She cannot go back into that bedroom weepy. Not because Rick would have a problem with it, but because she doesn't want to. She wants to go back into that room and make love to the man she loves and not be an emotional wreck. With her eyes closed, she thinks, takes stock. What is she feeling right now? Start with the physical. It's easier. There's a sweet throbbing between her legs. Her skin hums, tingles, glows.

Ricks hands, Rick's mouth waking up every cell in her body. Her eyes fly open. That's it. She realizes with a bittersweet pang to her heart that no one touches her. Before tonight, a hug from Carl—which she cherishes—but are few and far between is it. The shoulder pats and occasional small touches to get her attention is all she has ever gotten from Rick. The rest of the group, well, they just aren't a touchy-feely bunch. No one touches her. Tonight she has been touched more than she has in years. Years. She allows herself a quick and quiet cry. Mourning of sorts. She knows as long as Rick Grimes is alive she will never again go days, weeks, months without being touched again.

Back inside the room, Michonne yanks off Rick's shirt and all but dives on the bed. His arms and legs are around her immediately. She wraps around him too. He kisses her throat, his lips against her pulse point.

"Your heart's beatin' fast. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I ran. Didn't want to get caught."

He laughs and his warm breath dances across her skin. She shivers. "Caught by Carl?"

"Yeah."

He plants kisses to her clavicle. "What'd you think he'd do if he ran into you in the hallway?"

"Wearing your shirt, in the middle of the night and going back into your room?"

"Yeah."

"He'd know what happened tonight," she says incredulously.

"He's gonna know."

Michonne pulls back and looks at Rick. "Were we that loud?"

"No. Well, I don't know, maybe. I meant, I'm gonna tell him tomorrow."

Her eyes widened. "Tell him what?"

He looks at her like she's just been hit on the head and is speaking gibberish. "Gonna tell him what happened tonight. What's the matter? You don't want to tell him?"

"No, that's not it. I think you should…it's just I didn't think you'd tell him so soon."

"Well, he's gonna notice. We just agreed this is your room from now on. So I think you movin' your thangs in here and sleepin' in here will give him a clue. And then, it seems I can't stop kissin' you. Gonna be hard not to tell him." He presses his lips to hers for a quick peck.

"Yeah. You're right."

As if sensing something, Rick pulls back again and looks at her. "He's gonna be fine with it, with us like this."

She nods, only now just understanding how afraid she is of Carl not approving.

"He loves you," Rick says.

"I know." And she does know. Still…

"He'll be fine," Rick repeats.

"Yeah. He has to be."

Rick leans in for a kiss but stops, rises up on his elbow, looks down at Michonne. "Or?"

She meets his eyes. "Or what?"

"That's what I'm askin'? He has to be fine with it or what?"

She sees it then, the worry edged with fear that she will say Carl has to be fine with them together or there will be no _them together_.

She shakes her head. "There is no ultimatum, Rick. He has to be okay with it or we understand why he isn't and work on it until he is okay."

He nods. Chews his lip. "I'll talk to him first thang in the mornin'. Okay?"

"Okay. Just make sure you tell him that I'm not trying to replace his mom."

"Is that what you're worried about? He's not gonna think that, but if you're so worried about it, talk to him with me."

"Nope."

He laughs. "Coward."

"Yup."

Rick leans down, returning to what seems to be his new favorite place, and kisses her throat. He rolls them so they are back on their sides again, facing each other. His hands resume their exploration. He moans as his mouth travels across her jaw. He sucks her earlobe into his warm mouth then whispers, "Your skin is do damn soft."

"You think so?" Michonne feels the beginning of his erection against her thigh. His right leg is between hers. She drags her left leg up and down his like an erotic grasshopper's song.

"Yeah and why do you smell like that?"

"What?" She jerks away from him. "I was outside all day, traipsing through the woods with Spencer and—"

"What where you doin' in the woods with Spencer?"

"That's not important right now. You just told me I stink."

Rick laughs, tries to pull her back to him but she is having none of that. "I didn't say you stink. I said, why do you smell like that? It's good. Damn good."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I think you owe me an apology."

" _Sorry_." She allows him to pull her back to him again. He takes a deep whiff at the curve of her neck. "What is it? I noticed it 'bout two months ago. Now I smell it on Judith. You been hidin' lotion?"

"It's not lotion," she says, eyes rolling back in her head at the feel of his tongue dragging across her collarbone. "Even before the world ended, I hated lotion."

Rick's hand slides down, grips her ass. "You mean to tell me your skin is this soft, smells this good without lotion."

She chuckles. "Yes and no. I…well back when we were cleaning up after the herd. A group of us when through the houses of the ones we lost to restock the pantry."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, one of the houses. Rita's I think. I feel bad that I never knew a lot of them as well as I wanted to."

"Me too."

"I went through her house," Michonne continues. "She had a huge bottle of olive oil. Don't know how she managed to get that all to herself, but—"

Rick sniffs her neck, makes her giggle. "It doesn't smell like olive oil."

"I'm not finished."

"Sorry." He resumes his nibbling.

"I also found half a jar of coconut oil."

He smells her again. "I think I smell a little bit of coconut, but what I really smell, I can't put my finger on what it is."

"I'm not finished."

He laughs. "I'll just shut up then."

"Please do."

He smacks her ass, pulls her closer. He is fully erect now. She has to finish this story quickly.

"I think the coconut oil was old. I wouldn't trust it to eat, so I mixed in some olive oil. And the final ingredient I found a few houses later. Vanilla extract. Added that to—"

"Yeah! That's it." He pulls her so close, almost rolls on top of her. "You smell like cake." He inhales her. Buries his face in the crook of her neck. "Damn. Cake. Haven't had it in so long I forgot what it smells like."

He kisses her. His tongue tastes, gently, eagerly. Like he expects her mouth to taste of cake. He moves his kisses to her jawline, down to her neck. Sucks at her pulse.

"What's your favorite kind of cake?" she asks, enjoying this little known fact about Rick.

"Mmm, I wasn't big on dessert," he says between kisses. "But I would never turn down chocolate cake."

Michonne smiles.

"Nothin' goes better with chocolate cake than a nice cold glass of milk. It's—"

She bursts out laughing.

"What?" He lifts his head, looks down at her. "Chocolate cake, milk? Do you hear the double entendre?"

He squints at her.

"Never mind. You're adorable."

She can see he still doesn't get it, but she kisses him and all thoughts of double meanings go out the window. Rick's hand slowly travels her body. Loves on her breasts, smooths the lean muscles of her abdomen, then eases between her legs. His fingers are delicate as they slip between her slick lips, circle her sensitive bud, glides inside of her. He mutters cake as he takes one of her breasts into his mouth, sucks it.

"Can I call you cake?" he mumbles around a mouthful of her breast.

Michonne moans. "Not if you want me to answer you." She feels him laugh more than hear him.

Two of his fingers glide deeper inside her. His thumb teases her clit. He works his way to her other breasts, licks, sucks, nips that one. His fingers never stops between her legs. Her breathing increases. Abdominal muscles constrict with each gasping exhale.

"Rick," she moans. She is about to come with only the work of his fingers and his mouth on her breasts. She arches. Her back comes up off the bed as her orgasm rips through her body, clenching her inner muscles and every other muscle in her body as well.

Before her body can come down from the crashing waves of her rippling climax, Rick rolls between her legs. He comes up on his knees, lifts her hips and enters her. With a grip on her hips, he sits back on his haunches. Michonne's bottom rests on Rick's thighs. He begins to fuck her. There is no other word she can use to describe it. His pelvis slams against hers, sending shockwaves through her core. His face is feral, mouth slightly open, almost in a snarl, eyes narrowed, locked on hers, head cocked to the side. She has seen this Rick before and only now understands that she finds him extremely sexy. Usually, he is about to kill someone when he looks like this.

The realization makes her wild. She throws one leg on his shoulder. Ricks eyes flash in surprise. He takes her other leg drops it on his shoulder and thrusts harder. Then he leans forward, coming down on top of her. Legs still on his shoulders. He pounds into her. She feels her second orgasm building. Their eyes are still locked on one another. She can read his expression. It has to be the same of hers. _Really? It's like this? This good and we've only done it twice?_ Yeah, she knows exactly what he's thinking. His pumping increases. The slapping sounds of their bodies meeting fills the room. Rick's breathing stills and it's the only indication Michonne has that he is about to come. She wants to watch this and nearly misses it as her body convulses with her second orgasm within minutes of each other.

Rick makes a noise deep in his throat she has never heard before but hopes to God she hears again, and again. He trusts one last time and she feels his warmth fill her. They pause like that for a long moment. Her legs on his shoulders, damn near back by her ears and his forehead against hers. Slowly, she slips her legs off his shoulders. I'm going to feel that in the morning, she thinks. But she is willing and able to do it again. Whenever, wherever. Boneless, Rick slides off her, rolls onto his back. They lay side by side, sweating, panting, smiling.

Rick reaches over, takes her hand, laces their fingers together. "That almost killed me. I'm an old man, remember."

"Hmph. That's not how an old man has sex."

"What can I say, you inspire me." He turns his head, look at her. She does the same. "You said we have all night, right?"

She smiles. "That's what I said."

 **A/N:** Hi all, hope you enjoyed this next part of their first night together. I feel like on the show, maybe they didn't talk much about some things. Mainly because I'd like to see these talks play out on the show so I'm hoping it won't forever stay in our minds only.

So I tried to figure out if that bathroom we saw Rick shower in was an en suite or if it was like down the hall. I couldn't tell from the scenes in his bedroom. The one door looks like a closet. I couldn't tell if there was another door on the other side of the dresser. So for the sake of the story, I made the bathroom down the hall.

As for the part where Michonne cries in the bathroom. That was really difficult for me to write. It's something I took from my own personal life. There was a point in time where I would go weeks without another person touching me. I'm single. My parents and my sister lived in a different state. It is very isolating and if you are unaware of it, it can take a serious toll on your well-being. I can only imagine how it would be in a world like TWD when most of the physical interactions are violent. Now, Michonne has someone to touch her in the right way, the best way, with love. I don't have a Rick in my life yet, but people touch me more now…that sounds weird-lol. I mean, I get hugged all the freakin' time now. Not sure why, but I'm okay with it because it's with love.

Take care! May you all have someone in your life to touch you often with love. Next up, more from that night…Andre!


	7. Chapter 7 Pillow Talk Cont'd

**PILLOW TALK…CONT'D**

 **Summary: The same night, just a little later.**

Michonne lay on her back. Rick is on his side, facing her, propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand. He's looking down at her. The sheet covers the bottom half of their bodies. Breathing has settled, skin still tingles. She looks up at him, silently. There is no need for talking. The intensity of their second session was surprising, yet at the same time, not. Rick is a passionate man. It should be no wonder that his passion extends to all aspects of his life.

His fingers ghost down her torso, over her abdomen then back up between her breasts. He seems content to simply gaze at her, touch her. She is happy to allow it. He toys with her necklace. Adjusts the M-charm so that it sits in the hollow of her throat.

"You always wear this." His voice is no more than a grumble that sends a shiver right to her core. "Was it a gift?"

She nods, lowers her eyes. "Yeah." Chews her lip then says, "From my boyfriend."

Rick uses the pad of his index finger to circle the charm. "Must'a loved him a lot. You never take it off."

"Yeah. I loved him." She swallows. "But I loved what he gave me more." She glances at him. "My son."

His finger stills. Her heart is thumping so hard she swears everyone in Alexandria can hear it. She looks at him. She doesn't know what she expects to see. Confusion. Curiosity. Anger. All of the above? But he looks like a man who has just gotten a much sought after piece of a puzzle. Like everything about her suddenly makes so much more sense to him now.

"Tell me," he whispers.

Two words and they nearly unravel her. He could have asked her why she hadn't told him. Could have felt slighted because she kept something so important from him. But he doesn't. Tell me, is all he says and his tone is caught between a request and a question. She can say no. She knows this. But, those two words were just the right thing to say. And Rick doesn't always say or do the right thing. She knows this first hand. Michonne takes a shuddering breath.

"I feel like I was a different person back then…before, you know?"

He nods. "We all feel like that cause we all were different people."

She shakes her head. "No, I don't mean in a metaphorical way. I literally feel like _that_ Michonne from before was like my sister, or a cousin, or a friend. Someone utterly separate from who and what I am now. When I first met Mike, I thought I'd hit the jackpot. He was handsome, intelligent, charming. He was comfortable in any crowd. At home in the hood or at the White House." She pauses, gathers her thoughts. "He had conflicting views though. Like he would march for equal rights. A woman's right to choose what to do with her body, equal pay as men and stuff like that. But in our relationship, I was the one to cook most times even though he was better at it than me. He handled the finances, but I was much better at that. Those were traditional gender roles, see?" She snorts, shakes her head.

"When I got pregnant, somehow that woman's right to choose went out the window. We couldn't even discuss abortion. Not that I wanted one, but what happened to it being my body, my choice? All the things he preached. At the time, those things didn't seem important. They were just stuff I teased him about. His conflicting views when it came to me. I trusted him. Why wouldn't I? Like I said, he was smart and capable and I was okay with him being the man"—she made air quotes around man—"of the family and all that entailed. I had opinions and I voiced them, but I yield to him most of the time. He knew better…and then the world went to hell.

Rick's hand moved down to her abdomen, rested there.

"Me, Mike, our son Andre, and Mike's friend Terry got caught up in the chaos. We stayed in the house until we couldn't stay any longer. Heard about a refugee camp and headed there. Pretty soon, I started to see that Mike was not equipped for this world. He did a lot of complaining. Not a lot of thinking. Around us, people started getting wind of how to kill the walkers. Take out the brain. I kept saying we needed weapons. Mike was appalled. 'You just gonna kill people, Michonne?' It was like his eyes weren't working, or his brain. I mean, we are walking through the streets of Atlanta, people are being eaten and he thinks we should just run away." She shakes her head at the memory.

"You can only run so far and then you have to fight. Terry was no help. He was an idiot before everything went down. Then, when we are about a good fifteen miles outside of the refugee camp, we come across this weapons store. It's been looted, of course, but I still want to go inside. Mike is adamant that it's a stupid idea. I go in anyway. He has Andre and the three of them wait outside while I go in."

"He let you go in by yourself?"

She nods, smooths a hand over the muscle jumping in Rick's jaw.

"It's where I found the katana. Most of the things were gone, but the sword must've been mounted on the wall as decoration. It was on the floor behind the counter under plaster and other garbage. I nearly missed it. But the edge of the scabbard was sticking out and I tripped over it. When I pulled that sword out, it seemed to hum in my hands. Then I heard Mike and Terry yelling my name. I ran back to the door and three walkers were coming toward the entrance. Mike and Terry took Andre and ran."

"They left you!"

"Yup. I wasn't even mad that they left me. The only thought I had in my head was get my son away from this. If I died I didn't want him to see and if there were more walkers lurking I didn't want him in danger."

Rick closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

"I know, Rick," she whispers. "You wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have left me. But even now, I'm not mad they left. Protecting Andre is always going to be the right decision. Now today, three walkers is nothing. Back then, I knew I was dead. I learned quickly that wielding that katana is not as easy as it looks. The sword got stuck in the first one's skull. I yanked so hard the head came off and was stuck on the blade. Nearly cut my hand in two trying to get that thing off. After that, I wasted a lot of time stabbing places other than the head. By the time I killed the other two and ran out of there, Mike and Terry were a good mile ahead of me. I caught up with them and just started killing everything that wasn't alive. Getting away from those three walkers with no help…I guess it flipped a switch in me." She shrugs.

"I was done deferring to Mike. At the refugee camp, they ran through supplies pretty quickly. So I joined the groups going out to scavenge. The more I left, the more self-reliant I became, the more Mike complained. He wasn't even complaining about me leaving so much. Just complaints in general. 'Why is this happening? What are we gonna do? Where else can we go? Is the government just gonna leave us like this? They can't do that.' Just a lot of pointless whining that grated on my nerves." She takes a deep breath and prepares for the next part.

"I started thinking that I needed to leave the camp. That Mike and Terry were dead weight and I would be better off on my own with Andre." She licks her dry lips. "I started secreting away a few can goods and other supplies. The more I left camp, left Andre with Mike, the more anxious I grew. I told myself it was just the stress of the world getting worse. He's Andre's father. He'll protect our baby. Nothing is more important, right?"

She looks at Rick, knows he knows the truth of that. Nothing is more important than protecting your children. His face blurs as tears fills her eyes.

"See, I trusted Mike. That's what I told myself. It was a lie and I knew it was a lie."

Rick takes her hand, squeezes it. Gives her strength to continue.

"My instincts are hardly ever wrong. It's just back then, I didn't trust them like I do now. My stomach was in knots the entire time I was out on that run. I wanted to go back to camp. Nearly got myself bitten because I was so preoccupied with getting back. I saw the gates down and I knew." Tears slip from her eyes, roll back into her ears. "My baby. He was sweet, and smart. Smarter than most three year olds." She smiles sadly. "He would have made it with me. He would have lived with me. He would be like Carl, I think. Adaptable and strong. But I failed him." Her chin quivers has she tries to contain the roar of sorrow that claws up her throat. "The adults in his life failed him. It was more important to his father to get high than to stay alert."

Rick hisses between his teeth. She sure that if Mike was still alive, Rick would kill him all over again.

She sniffs. "My son paid for my weakness." Her voice is low and raspy. "I didn't leave when I should have because I was afraid. I thought I needed Mike and it kept me there long after I should've left."

"That wasn't your fault," Rick grumbles, thumbs a tear from the corner of her eye. "No, you didn't need him. Hell, you don't need me, but—"

"I do need you." Her eyes lock with his. She sits up, twists on her side so she can face him fully. "I need you, Rick. You, Carl, Judith…you anchor me. Tether me to this world because if it wasn't for you I'd…I'd…" She doesn't know what she would do, but she knows it wouldn't be good, wouldn't be healthy. She places a hand on Rick's chest, over his heart. "You are home to me. I need you."

She leans forward, touches her lips to his. Takes his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. She crawls over him, presses him back on the bed. Straddles him. Deepens the kiss, tastes Rick's moan. His hands slides up her sides, over her back. She breaks the kiss, looks down on him. He is beautiful. He is hers. She takes his hand and places it over her heart.

"Home."

He swallows. "Home." He pulls her down again, but before he kisses her he asks, "You okay?"

She gives him a small smile. "Yeah." And she is okay. There will always be an ache in her heart where Andre lives. She fears that she will one day forget his face. She has no pictures of him, but she will never forget the feel of him. The smell of him. The sound of his laughter. His smooth cheek against hers. She will hold on to those things until her last breath.

Rick palms the side of her face. She leans in, kisses his hand. Kisses his lips. Sucks his bottom lip into her mouth. He sucks her top lip. The kiss escalates. Rick laces his fingers into the back of her hair. His other hand slides down, grips her bottom. She feels him growing erect between her legs, grinds her warm wet center against it. Rick breaks the kiss, arches his back, groans. Michonne does it again and is rewarded with an iron grip on her hips. He give her what can only be described as a warning look. She smirks. Does it again. This time, he meets her thrust, plunges inside of her. His eyes roll, but it's nothing to the pained-pleasure expression he makes when she start to ride him.

She sits up, one hand on his stomach, the other behind her on his thigh. She rocks her hips back and forth. Stares at him. It is her turn to fuck him and she does just that. Rick's eyes are wide. His mouth is open like he is trying to find words but he has forgotten the English language. He seems stunned. In awe. Bewildered. Michonne is no stranger to feeling power. She wields a katana like an extension of her arm. Takes down walkers and men alike. But she has never felt power like she feels now, sitting astride Rick Grimes, rendering him deaf and dumb.

He squeezes her hips, stills her motion and takes a huge gulping breath. Had he been unable to breathe? She is on the verge of asking when he sits up, looks at her like she is a new and exotic creature, then kisses her. They wrap their arms around each other, face to face, mouth to mouth. Michonne begins to move again. Rick slides his hand down her back, grips her ass, helps her bucking. He dips his head, takes one of her breasts into his mouth. His tongue on her nipple send her to another world. She arches backward, head almost touching the mattress. Rick holds her small waist, bends with her, kisses his way over to the other breast.

It won't be long now. Every inch of her is on fire. She sits up again, pushes Rick back down to the bed and leans over him. Her hands lay flat on his chest and she begins grinding deeply. He gets that look again. Stunned, bewildered, awe. This time though he is breathing. Raspy and labored. Her breaths are coming in strangled gasps now too. Rick's fingers dig into her bottom, sure to leave a bruise even on her dark skin, but she doesn't care. She feels it now. The climax coming for her sure and swift. She hears the moans escaping her throat, getting louder. Hears Rick's guttural groans, knows they are probably too loud but she would be hard-pressed to stop now if an entire herd of walkers shambled in. Her orgasm jerks her pelvis forward just as Rick's causes him to clamp down on her hips, holding her in place as his erection pulses inside of her.

Michonne tips her head back, dreads brushing against the small of her back as she rides out the ripples of ecstasy. When she starts to feel dizzy, she slumps forward onto Rick's heaving chest. He doesn't seem to have the energy to lift his arms off the bed.

"Oh my God," Michonne whispers.

Rick swallows. "I'm never leaving this bed. I think I'm paralyzed."

She laughs, manages to kiss somewhere close to his mouth. She slides off him. Flat on her stomach, she turns her head on the pillow to face him. One hand across his chest, her leg curls over his. With what seems like a herculean effort, Rick poorly covers their cooling bodies with the sheet. His hand lands on her ass. That is it, that is all. They fall into a quick, deep sleep.

 **A/N:** Hope you all liked this installment. There is a little more to come. I don't know how much more love scenes there will be…sorry, but I'll see if I can think of something. Thanks for reading and reviewing. I love seeing new reviews. They make me smile so wide. Also, someone asked me why I write in present tense—most people do past tense. I write in past tense as well and it's the easiest form for me to use, but I am simultaneously working on one of my original novels that is written in first person present tense. So because my brain has a hard time switching back and forth, everything I write for the time being will be in present tense to make sure my novel stays how I want it. Hope that explains.

Take care and thanks again for reading!


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